To See Your Face
by Kiri
Summary: This is a grown-up Mitsuru and Shinobu fic. No yaoi anymore, let's put it that way.


anymore

Notes: If you are male, changing one's family name when one is married is uncommon, but does happen. Hayashi Nobutoshi (Tasuki/Fushigi Yuugi, Aoki/Greenwood, Gabriel/Tenshi ni Narumon) was married fairly recently and changed his name to Kanna Nobutoshi. So… I'm really not making this up. ^^; 

Also… Okita Etsuko was my Japanese TA's name… so she's basically a made up character (not that she's really important anyway O.o) and Chiaki was my prof's name. ^___^ Well… it amused me. x.x; 

Thanks muchly to Imo-Girl for pre-reading this and making it make some sense. ^_^ 

Lastly, this song ficcy is dedicated to Kei. ^_^ This one's for you, love. ^_~   
  


Artist/Band: Savage Garden   
Song title: I Don't Know You Anymore   
Album: Affirmation   


The MP3 to this song can be found at- [http://fushigiyuugi.org/Greenwood/fiction/authors/kiri/anymore.ZIP][1]   


**To See Your Face Again**

_I would like to visit you for a while_   
_Get away and out of this city_   


I cradle the handset in my palm. It's so small, like a kitten. I'm staring at it blankly. The cord twines around itself on the floor. My secretary keeps telling me to get a cordless, but I think I like the feeling of being tethered to something stable. 

I'm still staring at it. There's a sharp gnawing butterfly eating away the inside of my chest, clawing its way up to my throat. I slowly seat myself in my office chair and turn, gazing out at the city of Tokyo. From up here it almost looks like a mass of toys. My personal playground. 

My job is not bad. Heading a huge corporation that devours smaller businesses like a child consumes candy is rather unfulfilling, but at least it pays the bills. I'm tempted to flip on the TV I have across the room and just set the phone down, but the fear of hearing that familiar voice through an unfamiliar medium is still too strong. 

I dial the numbers. 

His voice answers, a cheery smile to my anticipating dreariness. "Hello?" 

"Hello, Mitsuru. It's Shinobu." 

For a moment, I almost expect him to hang up on me, but he recovers. "Shinobu?" His smile has dwindled slightly, but I can almost see him force it back. "How are you?"   
__

_Maybe I shouldn't have called but someone had to be the first to break_   
__

I debate momentarily whether to lie or not. "I'm fine, thank you. And you?" 

"Oh, great," he says, and now I can hear the honest grin has returned to his voice. "You've been busy at work, I take it." There is almost a hint of accusation. "You missed the wedding." 

"I know; I'm sorry. That's why I'm calling, actually. I had to be in America to close a business deal." I wonder if he can hear the thickness in my voice, and decide he probably can. Every Achilles has his heel. "I was wondering if I could stop by sometime."   
__

_We can go sit on your back porch_   
_Relax_   
__

"Oh." He sounds surprised, and I can almost see his damn wide amethyst eyes blinking in surprise. "You wanted to come here?" 

I lean heavily back into my chair, a poor mockery of the arms belonging to the voice on the phone. "If you wouldn't mind. I haven't seen you in a while." Actually, exactly a year and five days. 

"That's true." He is silent a moment, and with a sudden pang, I realize that I have no idea what he is thinking. "Are you free tomorrow?" 

"I can be." 

"Great." His voice is gentle, kind. "I'll cook something good for you, okay?" 

The pang stabs back into my heart. "You cook?" I keep the pain out of my voice, though admittedly with effort. 

"Yeah, Etsuko taught me." He seems pleased. "She's a really great cook."   
__

_Talk about anything_   
__

"Oh?" I say, not betraying myself and the sharp jealousy inundating me. "Tell me about her. I'm certain she's wonderful." 

"She is." His voice takes on that dreamy quality that I was so familiar with two years ago, that tone he used to whisper my name in and breathe to me that he loved me. I smile hard. 

"She's an actress, right?" His wedding had been the cover of every tabloid for weeks. 

"Yes." He's glowing. "She's just amazing… I used to think that so many actors and actresses were shallow and cold, but she really feels things, you know? She's so sweet and kind… and she cries at sunsets…" 

There's a hole somewhere in my body, maybe my heart, maybe my soul, that he once filled. Now, after he's gone, it's more of an empty gaping hole, blood pooling at the bottom, nothingness and apathy filling up the center. That would be all right. I could handle that. The part I hate is the longing spilling out onto everything else. It gets messy. 

"… and her jokes are so funny-" Almost abruptly, he breaks off, as though suddenly realizing my feelings. 

"Go on," I urge him gently. My eyes lower to my left hand, the fourth finger. 

"Hang on a second, I think she's calling me." He sets the phone down. 

So he hadn't been worried about my feelings. I guess true love will do that to a man.   
__

_It doesn't matter_   
__

He sets down the phone with a soft clunk onto something. I press my ear to the phone. He has forgotten to turn on the mute. 

"Etsuko?" he calls, and then, suddenly, "Hey!" 

I hear the soft sound of a woman giggling. Her voice is beautiful and typically high pitched, a lovely soprano to his warm tenor. I hear soft murmurs and then a long silence, longer than anything I've ever experienced. 

I sit there, listening to the silence, my cheeks painfully dry. 

And then, his voice again. 

"Shit, I'm on the phone." He stops, for her eyes must have asked a question. "It's Shinobu. I'll be right back." 

He sounds breathless when he picks up again. "Hello?" 

"I'm still here." 

"Sorry, Etsuko was calling me." He's grinning in that maniacal, boyish way he always had. 

"That's fine. I probably ought to get back to work." 

"Already?" I wonder if his disappointment is faked. He's an actor, after all. 

"I'm sorry. When would you like me to show up tomorrow?" Trained apathy is a marvelous thing. 

"How about ten? That way we can chat and I can cook you lunch. I like company in the kitchen." 

God, it would take everything I had in me to keep my hands off him. "That sounds wonderful." Plastic voice, plastic smile, plastic emotions. "Ten then." 

"Great, I'll see you tomorrow!" 

"Yes, you will." I pause. "Mitsuru?" 

He senses something in my voice, and he is hesitant. "Yes?"   
__

_I'll be courageous if you can pretend that you've forgiven me_   
__

"I'm sorry." Forgive me for lying to you with my eyes. Forgive me for my cold heart. Forgive me for loving you. Forgive me for still loving you. 

He's confused. "For what?" 

"For everything." For being a frigid bastard. For not giving you everything I could. For not giving you nearly close to what you deserved. For being unable to quite get you out of my mind. For being completely unable to get you out of my heart. 

The silence threatens to drown me. "Shinobu." That gentle tone again. "It's okay." 

No, it will never be okay. I lost my one chance. It will never be okay again. 

I clear my throat. "Ten then." 

"Yeah, ten. See you then." 

"Goodbye." 

"Bye."   
__

_Because I don't know you anymore_   
_I don't recognize this place_   
__

I'm lost. Somewhere, I think about a year ago, I got off track, and haven't been able to find the right path since. I'm wandering in a big dark forest without a lantern, without my light, and I can't see to find my way out. 

The relationship Mitsuru and I had had not been stormy. My desire for control would not allow such ragged conflict to enter its borders. Equally as I did not yell at him, neither did I reassure him that I loved him. 

And slowly, bit by bit, he drew away from me. 

I understand it now. How could he read my mind the same way I could easily read his? His eyes were his soul. Perhaps mine were too and my soul is really made of stone. Either way, I did not give him the emotional support and reaffirmation that he wanted. I was heartless and cruel and infinitely selfish. 

And I pay the price for my selfishness every day, whenever I see his smiling faces on commercials, in the theater, in TV dramas, in the newspaper, in advertisements. 

It's funny how simple things like going to the grocery store can be a trial. Every checkout line has his perfect face in print somewhere on the magazine racks. 

Echoes of him ring through everything now. Maybe one day his popularity will fade. 

Maybe one day I'll stop dying inside. 

I'll never know him again the same way as I did when we were young.   
__

_The picture frames have changed and so has your name_   
__

They mostly just call him Mitsuru. He's so famous that everyone knows who he is just by that. 

When he married, because Etsuko was the only child of a great family with a long lineage, he opted to change his name to hers. Okita Mitsuru. 

It sounds so wrong. I can't say it aloud. It even has the same second kanji as his own family name, but my tongue cannot bend to it. It tastes strange, like bitter strawberries. 

I wonder what his house looks like. I turn in my chair to gaze out the window again, to scan the tops of the high-rises of Tokyo. He had it built for them after their wedding. 

It's probably perfect, with matching curtains and bedsheets, strangers' faces circled by elegant frames on the perfectly painted walls, and assuredly with silk bedsheets. A slightly cynical laugh trickles from between my lips. He had always told me he wanted silk bedsheets. 

I'm sure Etsuko loves them too, that soft feel of silk against her skin, against her body, against her body against his body. 

I shut my eyes.   
__

_We don't talk much anymore_   
__

I can remember exactly what happened the last time I spoke to him in person. 

It was just over two years ago. We met for a late lunch at one of the more expensive restaurants in the city. It was to be my treat. Food was the way to a man's heart, after all, and who ate more than Mitsuru? 

I settled myself in one of the chairs of the cozy table for two. It was candlelit, dark, a soothing atmosphere. It was to be perfect for the long serious talk that I would need with him. While waiting, I played with the ring on my left hand that he had given me during college. It had been a pledge, he had said. It wasn't expensive, but it meant more to me than anything physical ever had. I never took it off. 

His career had kept him so busy that he hardly had time for me anymore. I understood; after all, hadn't I had similar issues with my career right after graduation? But lately, he had been spending less and less time at our shared townhouse and more and more at work. 

It had made me a little anxious at first, but then I had arranged this dinner – I knew he couldn't pass up food – where we would discuss these new circumstances. My instincts were humming with soft warnings, but I, blind in my love, ignored them. 

When he showed as expected up a few minutes late, he wouldn't meet my eyes.   
__

_We keep running from the pain_   
__

"Mitsuru," I greeted him, smiling, somewhat nervous at his display of unease, but masking it well. "I'm glad you came." 

At that he flashed me a brief smile, studied my face for a moment, and then glanced down at his menu. "I'm sorry I'm late. They kept me." 

I nodded, understanding and ever-magnanimous. "It's all right. I hope I didn't drag you away from anything." 

He looked up quickly, something etched on his face that I, for once, could not read. Fear tickled my throat a moment, but I swallowed and recovered. 

"No, I just need to go back to the set after this," he murmured, folding and refolding his napkin on his lap. I watched, grimly fascinated. 

He ordered huge amounts of foods, and some normalcy returned as I teased him about his appetite and good looks. The waitress begged for his autograph – this was near the start of his popularity – but things proceeded smoothly. 

Until dessert. 

He, of course, ordered two desserts. I had none. Unlike my blond companion, I had to watch what I ate. High schools days had fled. 

"Mitsuru, I've been meaning to talk to you," I began once the waitress had delivered the second of his desserts. 

Slowly, again not meeting my eyes, he set his fork down. "And I've been meaning to talk to you." 

I paused, taken aback. This was not according to script. I fumbled for my control. "What… do you mean?" 

Now he raised his face to mine, amethyst meeting my vision with shocking seriousness. "Shinobu." He took a deep breath, as if saying my name had been taxing for him. "I'm seeing someone else."   
__

_But what I wouldn't give to see your face again_   
__

What happened after that is scattered and distant in my mind, the dappled shadows of leaves flickering on grass, unclear, prosaic. I remember him pulling off his ring, the one I had given him, and placing it on the table, saying something about his stuff already being packed, and that he would call me later, and would I be all right? 

And then I remember sitting at the table, staring at his ring, gleaming platinum, and wondering if he would have still left if I had gotten him a gold one to match his hair. 

The waitress eventually came back to the table and gave me a puzzled look, but asked if I were ready to pay. Silently, I handed her my credit card, picked up his ring, and just walked out. They called that night about the card, but I never picked it up. I never wanted to set foot in that place again. 

The townhouse was indeed void of his belongings, but more noticeably, his spirit. It was cold. 

I remember staring into his empty room, shadows flickering on the white walls. He had always had posters and things in here. It was the room where he relaxed, where he made phone calls, where he typed resumes, where sometimes we even made love. And it still smelled of him. 

It was in this room that I cried myself to sleep. 

He had never called later.   
__

_Springtime in the city_   
_Always such relief from the winter freeze_   
__

I reopen my eyes, weary. It's not nearly time to go home, and I'm sure I can function adequately for the rest of the day; I just don't want to. 

To the gym, and then home? Exercising always relaxes me. Besides, I'm looking good. I have always been rather trim, but now I am fit as well. Endorphins are the spice of life. 

Besides, if I work out enough, I can sleep at night. 

My head is aching, the dull, low, throbbing pain that I always get when I'm stressed. Taking stress out verbally or emotionally would be too common for me. My body instead must bear the brunt. It's easier, I think, this way. I'm never snappish or upset and long hot baths cure me. It's remarkably cost-effective. 

It used to be that he'd just lightly rub my back when I was upset, relieving me with the tenacity of his presence and the gentleness of his touch, his soft voice lilting into my ear like a spring breeze. 

A sakura petal drifts by my window. I vaguely wonder how the wind had managed to lift it so high. 

Sakura trees bloom in the spring, yet they represent death. 

I wonder, still vaguely, if that is what love is like. Beautiful, but a constant reminder of death. 

Because love dies all the time.   
__

_The snow was more lonely than cold if you know what I mean_   
__

Each season had passed without him, and they would continue to pass without him. Winter had been colder, summer hotter, autumn despondent, and springtime meaningless. 

I stand, push in my chair, and leave. My secretary calls some nonsense after me. I ignore her. 

I go to the gym and then return home. Everything is a blur. 

In bed that night, alone, I ponder the meaning of my existence. 

Tomorrow I would see him. Tomorrow I could touch him. Tomorrow I would see those shining eyes and my own would shine from unshed tears. 

Tomorrow would remind me completely what I had lost and what I never could regain. 

Tomorrow would solidify the emptiness and loneliness caving in my chest. 

If I never see it, it holds that slight hint if unreality I so cherish and despise. But tomorrow, when I see his house, his wife, and his gold ring, tomorrow will destroy all my tenuous fantasies.   
__

_Everyone's got an agenda_   
__

I'm exactly on time. Of course. 

My driver will wait outside the gate for me as I asked him. If anything goes awry, my escape can be hasty and preconceived. 

The outside of the house is daunting. The grasses sprawl for what seems like miles, and the house is large and looming, though bright and cheerful. Perhaps I only find it fearsome because of what it represents. Trees canopy the yards and the bushes are perfectly trimmed. I can smell the scent of freshly mowed grass glazing the air like icing. It's gorgeous. 

I lift my finger to press the doorbell, and soft chimes dance through the air, barely audible from the outside. After a moment, a cheery old woman opens the door. "Tezuka-san?" She's short, dumpy, but her face is covered with smile lines. Mitsuru must have hired her himself. 

"Yes," I say quietly and she holds the door wide for me. "Follow me," she says as she makes a flourishing gesture toward where I can only assume Mitsuru is waiting. 

The entrance hall is as impressive as the outside. A ridiculous fountain is the center piece for the room. I can only assume that Mitsuru picked that out himself too. Etsuko-san must be a forgiving lady. 

Marble tiles cause my footsteps to resound eerily in the large circular room. The lady's steps are silent. A staircase swoops hugely off to the right and a smattering of doors indicate exits. While taking this in, I follow, as she requested. My heart is in my throat.   
__

_Don't stop_   
__

Surely I'm going to die. 

He could be right around any of these doors in this maze through which she is taking me. Out of the entrance hall, into a receiving room, into something else, past what seemed to be a dining room, down a hallway… 

She stops outside a door, pausing with her hand on the doorknob. She eyes me up and down once, scrutinizing me surreptitiously. Only a suspicious person like me would notice. 

"Okita-kun, Tezuka-san is here for you." With that brief announcement, my stomach hurling itself towards my esophagus, she leaves. 

An ice age passes. Every heartbeat, some species takes control of the earth and then loses it. Stars and galaxies form. Worlds are born. The Earth issues forth life. Dinosaurs come and leave. Mankind struggles to reach its notoriety. 

The doorknob turns. 

I see his shirt first. It's a soft blue color, the color I always tried to make him wear because it made his eyes glow and his skin look even more perfect that usual. It's a simple button down cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled up casually, almost jauntily. His arms are dark with a real tan, muscled, smooth. 

And then I have to look up.   
__

_Keep that chin up you'll be all right_   
__

He is smiling. 

It's that smile, that sweet boyish smile, the smile of open honesty and gentleness I loved so deeply and for so long. 

He eyes radiate warmth and kindness. I can feel my throat tighten. It was all a bad dream. He still loves me. He still loves me. He still loves me. 

He sticks out his hand. 

The world shatters like mirror as I reach out, smiling cordially, to shake his hand firmly. "Mitsuru," I greet, not a trace of anything other than politeness in my tone. 

His grip is just as firm. "Shinobu, how are you?" There is no trace of guile anywhere. 

I'm dying, Mitsuru. I'm in love with you, Mitsuru. I'm going mad, Mitsuru. "I'm fine, how are you?" Veiled words, empty, void. Like me. 

He grins again. "I'm great! I'm so glad you're here. I want to show you everything!" 

"Everything?" It's so easy to fall back into the old habits, the joking, the repartee, the goodnight kisses… 

"Want to see the view?" He's positively glowing. 

Did he actually miss me? 

"I would," I say sincerely.   
__

_Can you believe what a year it's been_   
__

He leads me to his bedroom. 

"This is the best view in the house," he says, smiling at me even with his eyes. "You can see for miles over the ocean. It's beautiful." 

"It must be difficult to keep your grass so nice with the sea so close," I say, following him. 

He gives me a puzzled look. "The gardener takes care of that…" 

How foolish of me. "That's right. I'm sorry." Before he can say anything to that, I gesture to the large curtained window. "Is that the view?" 

He nods and flings open the curtains with a flourish that only an actor could muster. "Here you go!" 

It's breathtaking. 

There is balcony and then sky and water, mixing, rolling into one, a mass of blue. 

And him, standing there, his blue shirt mingling with the sea and sky, his blond hair the sun, and his eyes, his perfect shining eyes… 

I try to say something, to say anything at all, but he's too beautiful. He's looking at me expectantly, and I manage one word and that's all. "Amazing." 

Because he is.   
__

_Are you still the same?_   
__

He smiles gently again. I want to throw my arms around him and hug him so tightly that we become one, one person, and he can never leave me again. 

I don't, of course. 

"Yeah, it's pretty nice," he agrees congenially in his friendly yet aloof manner. "Etsuko actually decided to make this the bedroom. The original master bedroom was supposed to be across the hall." He gestures, a single liquid movement, and I turn my eyes away from him and the ocean. 

The room is furnished delicately, almost sparsely, and is remarkably neat. Maids, I assume after a moment. Mitsuru was never messy, but he was never as scrupulous as I am. What furniture that is there is functional, yet simple and elegant. Etsuko must have decorated this room. 

I do note that the pillowcases on the large double bed are silk. 

"Are you hungry?" he asks, chipper as a morning bird. His voice pulls my gaze back toward him. 

"Famished," I reply, the expected response. There is nothing on my face, nothing in my eyes. If I'm still the same demon I was when he loved me, then why doesn't he love me now? 

He grins, eyes innocent and eager. "To the kitchen!"   
__

_Has your opinion changed?_   
__

He leads the way. 

"It's an awfully large house," I murmur, gazing at all the rooms we pass in something akin to awe. Land in Japan is expensive. My townhouse is just within my budget. Comparatively, I am a monetary infant. 

He glances at me over his shoulder. "We don't live here alone, you know. The gardener and his family lives here, the cleaning staff, Chiaki and her family… Chiaki is the one who brought you in. There are some other people here too… It's not too big with so many people." A quick smile. 

I nod, still gazing in a mixture of awe and emptiness at the house. I love it because it is his. 

We reach the kitchen and he starts fishing around for pot and pans. "So are you still in downtown Tokyo in the same old apartment?" 

"Yes. It suits me well." It's barren too. 

"Girlfriend?" He pauses a moment. "Boyfriend?" 

"No." How could I love anyone like I love him? "I'm too busy to actually meet people." 

He gives me a little knowing nod. "Etsuko knows some cute girls if you want." 

I give him a brief smile. "That's all right. I don't think I'd have time for a relationship. But thanks." 

He shrugs, flicking on the stove. "Suit yourself."   
__

_Because I don't know you anymore_   
__

I try to start up conversation. "Your new movie was good. You did very well." 

He grins. "Thanks. It was fun to make." He's throwing all sorts of things into the pot. I don't ask because I don't want to know. 

"Is it hard work?" 

"Sometimes." He's stirring the contents idly while with the other hand pressing the buttons on the rice maker. "I didn't have to do my own stunts, so it was okay." 

"Is that what you do all day then? Just go to the studio and act?" 

I get a dour look for that comment. "There's more to it than that. Do you just sit in that chair in your corner windowed office all day and watch birds?" 

"Sometimes." And daydream. 

Another look. "Let's trade jobs then. I'd like to do that." 

"I'm not exactly the heartthrob type, Mitsuru." 

There's silence a moment as he tries to think what to say to that.   
__

_I don't recognize this place_   
__

"Do you ever go back to the temple?" I ask, my voice sounding a little forlorn. 

"Uguisudani is a long trip," he avoids. I call him on it. 

"Your parents visit then? And your brother?" I can imagine Sho's reaction to this house. 

He glances at me a moment, then back to the rice cooker. "Sho… had a crush on Etsuko for a while." His voice is somber. "He doesn't come around much anymore." 

Ah. "I see. That must make things difficult. Your parents?" I wonder how long Sho would take to get over it. Hasukawa had taken almost a year in the same situation. 

"Sometimes." 

I pause again. "Hasukawa? Shun?" 

Now his smile warms up. "Hasukawa was my best man." The smile fades slightly. "I wanted it to be you, but…" 

"I was in America, I'm sorry." I look properly penitent. "But I'm glad for him. Shun was the maid of honor then?" I ask dryly. 

He chuckles, a soothing sound to my ears. "No, he wasn't. He actually cut his hair recently. I hear he's engaged." 

I'm startled. "I see. I haven't heard from him recently." 

He nods. "We keep in touch via email and phone a lot. He's a good kid. Doing well for himself." 

Silence. "Well… that's good then. He deserves to be happy."   
__

_The picture frames have changed and so has your name_   
__

"You have wedding pictures, right?" I ask, to break the pregnant silence before it gives birth to discomfort. 

"Yeah, in the living room down the hall and on the right." He points a spoon in the direction I am to take. 

I go. 

The living room holds no traces of Mitsuru's personal taste. I pick up the albums and meander back toward the kitchen. When I return, I seat myself at the counter and flip open the first one. 

He peers over from the stove where he has something on a griddle. "Yeah, that's the first one." A smile. "There're pretty good shots." 

I open the first page. 

He and Etsuko are there, holding each other's hands and gazing into each other's eyes. I smile with my mouth, my eyes dry and hard, a desert of stone.   
__

_We don't talk much anymore_   
__

It's deathly quiet in the kitchen, except for him moving about. 

My eyes are looking of their own will upon the pictures. 

He's wearing a dark traditional kimono which just serves to make his hair and face look lighter. Etsuko, his lovely perfect bride, stands about 6 inches shorter than him, in the traditional red kimono. I recognize her easily after all the pictures I've seen on the news of them together. She's absolutely beautiful. And radiant. 

I watch him out of the corner of my eye, silently observing. His posture and the way he moves has not changed since I saw him last. He's still the athlete, the dancer, the graceful physical artist. 

I flip through the pictures one by one. 

It should have been me.   
__

_We keep running from these sentences_   
__

I clack the photo album shut. 

He looks up. "All done?" He's beaming. The scent of tomato soup of some variety is winding through the air gently. It smells good. 

"Yes. She's quite beautiful. So are you." 

He has the decency to nearly blush. "Thanks… lunch is almost ready…" 

I nod. "I'm sure it will be excellent." Rotten bread would taste exquisite in this company. 

A grin. "It's Etsuko's recipe… her favorite. I'm sure you'll love it." 

"I'm sure I will too." Because Etsuko apparently has good taste. In decorating, cooking, men…   
__

_But what I wouldn't give to see your face again_   
__

I stand, moving over to see what he's concocted. "Well, I don't think any of it will bite back," I say, amused at my own comment. 

He glares. "It'll be good." 

"What's this?" My finger hovers over a pot of an unknown substance. 

"Linguini with clam sauce. It's flavorful." He grins widely. 

With a start, I realize suddenly how close I am to him. I can see every detail in his face, like in a movie close up. Even more than that, I can feel the heat of his body. 

And even more than that, I can smell him. God, can I smell him. 

He still uses the same aftershave. I feel goosebumps skitter along my arms. The gentle faint whisper of musk mixed with his own scent is overpowering. It's too much. I can't take this. 

"Linguini…" I repeat blindly. "With clam sauce…" 

So close… if I just…   
__

_I know I let you down_   
__

There were times when we were young and foolish that he would say things to me, sweet words from his heart, things that he had never spoken to anyone before. I certainly wasn't his first kiss, but I was his first love. 

He was my first everything. 

I loved him with silent passion, deep, that I only let out at certain times. When we made love I was ferocious, trying to show him with my body and hands everything that I could not say with my tongue. I loved to hear him moan my name, to know that he loved me, that he would always love me, and only me… 

I was selfish. I still am. I should have been brave and let him know he had my heart. 

Because maybe then I'd still have his. 

But I denied my chance, denied him what he wanted. 

I should be content though. He's happy. He's found someone who loves him as much as he loves her. 

Besides, if he had stayed with me, he wouldn't have become as famous. I'm male. 

This way is better for him. I should be content.   
__

_Again and again_   
__

I lean toward him, my hands catching hold of his. I feel their warmth, calluses from his years of sports softened by his career. For a moment, he lets me touch him like this, so familiar and longed for, so close, so close… 

His eyes are wide with surprise, but he's used to touch, so it's not electrifying him like it is me. Everything is in my view somehow. The world is profoundly clear. I can see the misplaced paper tower by the sink. The bag of rice is in the open cupboard. Something is about to boil over. He's in front of me and he's beautiful, every hair, every pore. 

"Shinobu…" he starts warningly, but I take no notice. He's real. For the first time in so long, he's here and not in my imagination, or my television, or on a magazine. He's warm, breathing, and so, so close. I've gotten taller than him somehow, I notice, and it's to my advantage now. 

"Mitsuru, it's been so long," I whisper, and my voice is hoarse. 

He looks nervous. "Shinobu… what…" 

I lean down closer, and kiss him. 

God, it's amazing. His lips taste so sweet and he's actually kissing me back. Harder… harder… it's like high school again, and I can feel my body responding as it did then too. I tighten my hold around him and I feel his arms pull me near. 

So normal… this is how it was meant to be. Him, me, together. Tighter… closer…   
__

_I know I never really treated you right_   
__

I remember a time in high school of one particular thing he said to me and my familiar failure to him in not being able to speak my heart. 

Mitsuru glanced at me, watching me tie my tie, his bright eyes gleaming with some deep emotion someone like me could never feel. "You're my smile." 

I paused a moment, looking at him, silent. 

"You're my smile when I look in the mirror and feel like it's actually beautiful." His eyes were so deep, so sincere, so trusting, and loving. 

Wordlessly, I smiled faintly and shook my head. "It's almost time for classes." 

I saw the look of mute resentment on my deference to his comment. It lined his face like worry or sadness, a creek between stepping stones. 

But I still said nothing. What could I do to deserve such sweet words? I was not a poet, like him. I was cold, hard, calculating, a fortified stone of flesh and reality. 

I should not have been anyone's smile.   
__

_I've paid the price_   
__

"No!" He pushes me away roughly, not looking at me, shamed. 

"Suki da ze, Mitsuru," I say desperately. 

"Don't." He's still not looking at me. 

I'm breathless, breathing heavy. "Mitsuru, I'm…" 

"I'm married, Shinobu… I can't…" He turns to me to give me a helpless look, eyes pained. "I love my wife." 

"I'm sorry." I find my self control in the abscess of where my heart was. "I lost my head." 

He gives me a wan smile. It doesn't reach his eyes.   
__

_I'm still paying for it every day_   


He saves what was about to boil over. 

I move away from him, toward the window. My voice is tight. "May I smoke here?" 

"There's a door to the outside in the next room." His voice is disapproving. I think I'll die of heartbreak sooner than lung cancer anyway. 

Scolding myself for being melodramatic, I find the exit. 

The view, of course, is lovely. I pull my pack of cigarettes out of my pocket, tugging one out. I light the end and stick it into my mouth, taking a long drag. Warm air fills my lungs, reassuring. I let the nicotine do its job. 

When that one is finished, I drop it and stamp it out, then pull out another. 

And then another. 

By the time my third cigarette is finished, I feel calm enough to face him again. 

Almost.   
__

_So maybe I shouldn't have called_   
__

God, this was a bad idea. I drop the third cigarette butt onto the stoop, and step on it, crushing it with my shoe. I stamp the fire, the life out of it, and I know that he is waiting for me inside. 

I push back open the door, knowing the scent of smoke is still lingering on and maligning my sweater. I run a hand through my perfectly layered hair, and walk back into the kitchen, smiling my false, plastic smile. I wonder if they can put a UPC on my smile and market it… 

"I'm sorry, Mitsuru," I say, my voice controlled. "I just lost my head. It won't happen again." 

He gives me a terse smile as he stirs something on the stove. "Oh, don't worry about it." Cheery cordiality. "But you came back just in time. It's just about done." He inclines his head. "Want to go sit in the dining room?" 

He leaves me no choice but to obey.   
__

_Was it too soon to tell?_   
__

I sit. 

A long damask tablecloth hides a luscious mahogany table. I tsk under my breath. They should have used lace. It was a waste to hide such a lovely table. 

There are only two seats at this table, so I assume this is where he and Etsuko usually eat. I wonder with a harsh smile if I am sitting in Etsuko's seat. 

He brings out some plates, and I think for a moment that it would be more appropriate for him to wear an apron as well. I rise. "Do you want some help?" 

"No, that's fine," he smiles, then bustles back into the kitchen. 

I slowly sit again, watching him go, always watching him go.   
__

_Oh what the hell_   
_It doesn't really matter_   


He brings out cups and silverware and several trivets, then bowls and plates and other assorted containers of various food. This is more food than two people should ever eat. 

But then again, it's Mitsuru. 

A deep sense of apathy comes over me, replacing the longing momentarily. He pours me some wine, red, and I sip. Maybe it was never meant to be. I should not live the rest of my life in a dream. 

He heaps my plate full, both of us steeped in relative silence. "Try something," he says, his sweet mouth engrossed in smiling at me. 

I lower my fork, plunge it into something warm, lift it to my lips, bite, and swallow. 

It is delicious. 

If he had never met Etsuko, he would never have been able to do this. 

"This is wonderful," I tell him, keeping my voice steady. "You know, I bet she only taught you to cook so she wouldn't have to do it all. With your appetite and all." I smile at him. 

His face lights up and he laughs, relaxed again.   
__

_How do you redefine something that never really had a name?_   
__

Lunch is light-hearted. 

I try some of everything. It's all good. Even things I had never liked before taste wonderful. Maybe because of the hand that cooked them. 

Everything out of my mouth is mindless, pointless drivel, but it feels good because he is smiling and laughing. I am memorizing how his face moves in real life and not on the television, how his voice sounds five feet from my ear and not through the tin of the radio. He's more perfect in reality than any movie camera could portray him. 

He talks about his wife, what they do, what he does at work, things I hear and memorize as he speaks, but to which I pay no attention. My mind is occupied with him, his voice, face, eyes, lips, hands… everything. I respond appropriately. I smile and nod encouragingly. I love and adore and worship seamlessly and imperceptibly. 

He stops suddenly. 

"Shinobu…" His voice is wary. I follow the line of his vision. 

It rests on the fourth finger of my left hand. 

Suddenly uncomfortable, I move my hand to my lap. "I'm sorry…"   
__

_Has your opinion changed?_   
__

"You still wear it." He sounds a little puzzled, but mostly surprised. 

"Yes." I sound ashamed. 

"Why?" There's nothing resentful in his tone, no anger, just simple curiosity. 

I pause a moment. Why? Why did I still wear his ring despite everything? Why did I hang on to frivolous fantasies of a married man who would never love me? 

"Do you want the truth?" My own voice surprises me with its candidness. 

He watches me closely, a shadow coming over the amethyst of his eyes. "Please…" 

My heart is pounding and it's hot. I let none of this show. "Because I still love you, Mitsuru." My eyes do not stray from his. 

"Shinobu…" 

"I'm sorry. I do. I always have, and I probably always will." There's a strange sort of resolute acceptance in my voice. 

He's silent a long time. I take another sip of wine while he absorbs this. 

"I don't expect anything, Mitsuru," I say after a while. "But you have to be true to your feelings. It's the same for me. I won't lie to myself." 

He raises his eyes to mine. "I understand."   
__

_Because I don't know you anymore_   
_I don't recognize this place_   
__

The rest of the lunch is a little more curt. He watches his words carefully. I talk about work. After all, it's all that I have left. 

He asks the right questions and I give the right answers and everything is marketable and clean. I feel like I'm talking to a wall, that I'm a wall talking to another wall, that I have no voice or mouth or lips or brain, but am just a programmed thing that does what is necessary. 

Somewhere near the end, I hear a faint echo of a woman's voice drift down the hall. 

He stands, a silly grin on his face. Something lurches in my chest. It's such a familiar smile, but to see it directed toward someone other than me… 

"We're in here, honey!" he calls, and then seats himself again, looking much more pleased. "I'm glad," he says to me. "Now you'll finally get to meet Etsuko." 

I smile back, bland. "I've been wanting to." 

Lies are easier than truths. And I have finished my share of truths for the day.   
__

_The picture frames have changed and so has your name_   
__

A small young woman bounces in, long black hair streaming behind her, quick dark eyes, brightening at the sight of her young, handsome husband. "I'm home!" She embraces him from behind and leans around him to give him a messy kiss. 

I smile stoically from my seat. 

Mitsuru takes this opportunity to introduce us. "Honey, this is Shinobu, my roommate during high school and college. Shinobu, my wife, Etsuko." 

I'm sure that all she ever knew me as was his roommate. I do not comment. 

She gushes. "Oh, Shinobu-san, I've heard so much about you!" She gives me her hand and I shake it dutifully, smiling pleasantly. 

"I've heard much about you as well, Okita-san, but rumors of your charm and beauty were greatly understated." I want to choke. 

She has the courtesy to flush slightly. "Oh, call me Etsuko," she smiles. 

"Etsuko then," I say, smiling back. 

Inside, something in my chest dies.   
__

_We don't talk much anymore_   
__

I make my escape at the planned time, one o'clock, after enduring brief bouts of conversation with his charming, witty, intellectual, beautiful wife. 

His perfect wife. 

It's obvious they dote on each other. I smile staidly as they feed each other bites of his creations, giggling. 

After she arrived, it's more of a conversation between them with me as the observer, occasionally answering a question directed toward me. 

As soon as my clock flips to one, I stand. "Well, I think it's time for me to be off." 

Mitsuru looks at me, blinking, heartless. "So soon?" 

"I have a business meeting to attend. Forgive me." 

Etsuko smiles disarmingly. "You'll have to promise to come back soon then, Shinobu-san!" 

Death seems much more appealing, oddly enough. I smile back. "Of course." 

They see me to the door, where my driver is waiting. 

The longest part of this day is the walk from the door to the car, where they are watching my back, together, holding each other tightly. 

I turn, wave, step into the car, and shut the door.   
__

_We keep running from the pain_   
__

My face is chalky and blotchy all at once, though my eyes are dry. 

My driver is not looking in the mirror. I am glad. 

I'm pitifully alone. The one person that I could care about the most has found another and is completely happy without me. 

I'm such a fool. 

I'll be home soon, home where he once held me and I can be riveted by memories to things that were only ever lies. 

Everything I ever loved or believed in is a lie. My life is a lie. Nothing and everything and reality and life is a lie. 

We speed onto the highway and I think it should be raining.   
__

_But what I wouldn't give to see your face again_   
__

Wearily, I take the elevator to my apartment, so big and empty. Maybe I should get a cat. 

I pull off my sweater as I pull out my key, unlocking the door. I push it open and step through, shutting and locking it again behind me. My keys I toss on the small table near the door and then pull off my shoes. I slide into my home slippers. I feel old. 

My path leads me deeper into my apartment, to a small room, his old room. I lean against the door a moment, feeling the cool hardness of the wood against my cheek, closing my eyes and just being still. 

How funny that one simple thing – my honesty and my willingness to share that – could have changed my entire life. 

I slide open the door and step in.   
__

_I see your face_   
__

I move towards my favorite picture in his room and lean my forehead against it, suddenly overwhelmed by a sick feeling of horror in my stomach. I can feel all the eyes of every poster of him I put in this room staring at me, condemning me. Something akin to nausea overcomes me and I slowly sink to the floor. 

All around me, circling me, are bright smiling pictures of his face, magazine cut-outs, posters, movie fliers… a shelf with all of the movies he's made sits at the far end. Tapes of radio dramas and interviews rest on another shelf. 

I sit here, alone, wondering if that's all I ever really had of him – a smiling face, empty of anything behind it, a voice with no body, a sort of falsified love that maybe I only dreamed. 

My chest bursts and the sobs pour out like oceans as I start to cry.   
__

_I see your face_   


  


   [1]: http://fushigiyuugi.org/Greenwood/fiction/authors/kiri/anymore.ZIP



End file.
